Hooked
by ColieMacKenzie
Summary: It's slow tonight, calm, laced with a tenderness that almost aches. Episode tag for 5x19, "The Lives of Others." Complete.
1. Chapter 1

_Haven't quite made it to 100 yet, like our beloved show (*SQUEAL*), but this appears to be my 60__th__ Castle story and I'd like to take this moment to thank you all for welcoming me into this fandom, for choosing to read my stories, for your kindness and enthusiasm, for the encouraging words you give me in return – I treasure them all tremendously! Thank you! xox Nic_

**AN:** Episode tag for 5x19, 'The Lives of Others.' There isn't really anything that could possibly make this episode any better, but here I am writing something anyway. I can only hope I'm doing it justice.

**_Congratulations "Castle"! Here's to 100 more. :)_**

* * *

**Hooked**

She wonders if this is going too far.

Kate shimmies into the dress, runs her hands down the bodice that tightly hugs her breasts and her waistline. She turns in front of the mirror, to the right, to the left, and the skirt flares out, the silky edges brushing her knees like a soft caress. This beautiful dress, a bit out of her price range (okay, a lot out of her price range) but just so very perfect for the night she had in mind that she couldn't stop herself, it _had_ to be this one. And then the designer happened to come by, flittering around her in the tiny boutique store. He looked her up and down, tugging here and smoothing there before he suggested he'd make a change to the neckline for her. 'You have the most beautiful collarbones I've ever seen! We _have _to emphasize those, darling.' And she had let him. When she came back to the store to pick it up, he'd made her put it on again, gleefully clapped his hands together. 'Like Grace Kelly,' he'd proclaimed, smiling proudly at the smooth lines, the perfect flow of the dress. She scans herself critically but she can't even refute it.

It's perfect and she can't stop worrying whether the night will be the same.

Every moment of this plan hinges on her knowing Castle well enough to correctly predict each of his reactions. On his fascination with the macabre, his profound interest in solving the mystery. And it's working; so far he's been 'with' her on every step; with her subtle guidance in the right direction, all their acting, he's bitten the bait; they got him hook, line and sinker.

But the further it went, the deeper he got into it, worried and getting so anxious, the more her throat closed each time she had to lie to him, to pretend she didn't believe him. She couldn't stop the sharp teeth of remorse that keep gnawing at the back of her mind because, as much as he's her guy for the outlandish theories and she's his girl for the rational approach, in the end, they support each other. It's how they work, who they are. It's_ why_ they work, she thinks, and to undermine that, and to see the hurt on his face, the traces of disappointment in her - it pains her more than she'd expected.

Reaching for her jewelry box she extracts her pearl earrings, the pair that matches her bracelet. The pair he'd gotten her as her second Valentine's Day gift, the pair that didn't accidentally end up in the hands of another woman who also happened to be her boss. Now she owns them both, treasures these gorgeous pieces but she may actually love this pair just a little bit more. Because he wanted to make sure she had an 'untainted' gift, just for her. Because he'd snooped through her jewelry box, found her treasured bracelet, the one where she had her mother's string of pearls intertwined with her maternal grandmother's. And he'd matched the earrings to it.

She clasps the bracelet around her wrist and presses her palm over the entwined strings; feeling the pearls warm with the touch of her skin, she reflects for just a moment on how truly small her family is, how few people there are. Her mother gone, her grandparents, no aunts and uncles on either side, no siblings. Just her and her dad, for such a long time.

She has friends of course, the boys at the precinct who've really become more like her brothers, and now… Castle. She has Castle now, and by extension his small family too. His smart daughter and his exuberant mother, the only person who's ever called her Katherine and it's warm and adoring when she addresses her like that; it pulls at something inside of her, that place deep down where she's missed this personal affection and warmth, this pure acceptance, just for who she is.

They've all come through for her; everybody was so supportive, playing their part for this gift for him, full of excitement for her idea and for the first time she's felt like they were truly becoming a family, the kind that sticks together, that doesn't just coexist but relies and counts on each other. It's amazing and overwhelming, her heart skittering with the implications.

She twirls once more, then checks the corners of her eyes for make-up smudges and the perfect fold of her bun. She's nervous, her hands a bit shaky and she inhales sharply, trying to calm the sharp twist of her stomach before she steps outside.

Showtime.

* * *

The relief is like a wave, washing over her; two weeks' worth of anxious planning and escalating worry flushing from her skin with his exuberant excitement, his pure joy at his birthday surprise and his tender, lingering kiss, giving her more than words ever could.

She couldn't breathe. For long moments she just couldn't draw in air, her heart hammering, smile frozen as she stood there waiting, waiting, the shocked expression on his face making her blood run cold._ 'My own murder mystery? This is the best gift ever!' _Sheremembers these words so vividly but did she get it wrong after all? She stammered her explanation, rambled on about why she planned it all but louder than ever it nagged on her brain: Did she go too far? Making him fear for her life when she had almost died in his arms, once before?

And then he breaks open with joy, with the exuberant, boyish excitement that she'd hoped for, had practically been _craving_ to see. Her heartbeats calm, thud slow and strong and steadily as warmth spreads through her, filled with relief and her own contentment at making him so happy.

He's got her too, doesn't he? Just like she has him. He's got her.

Hook, line and sinker.


	2. Chapter 2

She walks beside him as he hobbles down the hallway of his building, tall and graceful and stunning, and he really wishes he didn't have to grip these stupid crutches because more than anything right now he just wants to hold her hand. He wants to feel her slender fingers, her amazingly soft skin folded into his, her warmth; wants to hold her hand as they walk home together.

He's not drunk, only pleasantly buzzed; the fizzle of the champagne soft and enjoyable as he sipped a succession of bubbly drinks, not really counting them while he chatted with his family, all his closest friends, still stoked and giddy about all of this, the plan, the setup and execution, the whole incredible thing. And humming with awareness of _her_; always, always her, Kate. No matter where she was, his mind would hone in on her, was drawn to her; her lithe figure, her grace and ease and that gorgeous smile. His eyes would find hers across the room, would hold, arrested by her mere presence and the sparks that fly almost visibly between them, that crackle of energy that had irrevocably drawn him to her from the moment they met.

She makes his heart leap and stutter, his skin tingle with awareness and she's his now - well okay, maybe she's not his per se because nobody should ever own Kate Beckett but she _chose_ him; this beautiful, thoughtful, remarkable woman chose him, loves him and nothing, nothing has ever felt as amazing, as overwhelming as this.

She's quiet beside him, the steps of her heels hushed by the plush hallway carpet and it's a content silence, comfortable and easy between them. He eyes her from the side, the soft draw of her lips in a barely-there smile, the stark strength of her profile, as if she was made to be immortalized in paintings and sculptures and noir movies. There's a sense of peace to her tonight that seems almost new; or no, not new, he corrects himself, maybe just heightened, reinforced.

"What?" She turns to him, eyebrow quirked at his staring but her smile remains this tender thing and his good knee goes weak.

"Nothing, just… Wow," he breathes, so completely overwhelmed by her, and she laughs, a startled sound just as a blush creeps up her neck, flushes her cheeks. They reach the door and she turns into him, trails her fingertips down his cheek, her touch soft like gossamer wings as she looks at him, her eyes almost pure green tonight, her whole heart shining in their depths.

"You're not so bad yourself, Castle." She breathes the familiar words against his lips and his heart stammers with the memory, with her proximity, with the awing reality of just how far they've come.

* * *

It's slow tonight, calm, laced with a tenderness that almost aches.

He steps behind her, his fingers in her hair, slowly loosening the pins that hold her bun and then her curls tumble down over her shoulders, the loose strands tickling her spine. He buries his face in her hair, inhaling on a deep sigh while he laces his hand around her waist. His palm splays wide over her stomach, his warmth soaking through the silk of her dress and her eyes flutter closed, her body melting against his.

She feels as if she's been pulsating all night; from the moment he 'couldn't wait to unwrap her,' arousal had been simmering low inside of her and now his fingers tease low on her abdomen and she's coming alive beneath his hands, desire flaring to the surface, flushing her with heat.

He sweeps her hair to one shoulder, his fingers delicate as they brush along her skin. His lips meet her neck, soft kisses and the swirl of his tongue around her vertebra and she shivers, her limbs weakening. His mouth trails lower, his fingers following the line where the back of her dress limns her skin before he unclasps the first small hook.

He takes his time, hook after hook after hook coming undone the same way she comes undone with each touch of his fingertips. His fingers slide low, linger on the newly exposed skin, his mouth adoring every line and curve of her back.

"How many more are there?" He grins into the arc of her neck while he finds the next clasp, low on the slope of her spine.

"Impatient much?" She teases just as he sweeps his index finger beneath the fabric, teasing low on her tailbone and her spine arches, her hips pushing back into his.

"Now who's the impatient one?" He murmurs, holding her hips steady against his, though the bulge pressing against her belies his statement. She's flushed and tingly, desire curling low within her and she wiggles out of his grasp, steps away, holding the loosened dress against her torso as she turns.

"I wanted to make sure you had a great gift to unwrap." And then she lets the dress drop.

The fabric pools around her feet while he stares at her, seems to soak her in and there's such reverence, such quiet wonder in his eyes that her heart hammers against her ribs. It's his birthday but the way he's looking at her, it feels like it's all for her.

"You have always been my greatest gift."

* * *

He can see it in the startled intake of breath, the surprised shyness shimmering in her eyes, how the words hit her and yes, they're cheesy but it's also more true than he ever thought possible. She hasn't just saved his life numerous times, she's also saved _him_. From himself.

She's glowing in the dim light of his bedroom, so staggeringly beautiful, almost otherworldly and he travels his eyes down her body, over the strapless balconet bra, the black lace that hugs her curves, caresses her hips in a wide strip, a stark contrast to her pale skin. His mouth goes dry. He meets her eyes again, his legs faltering beneath him.

She holds a hand out for him and he trips, stumbles toward her, all of it catching up to him at once, the long night and the champagne, the pain meds that have long since worn off, the infinite minutes he spent standing up, slowly unwrapping Kate from her dress but it was all worth it, so very worth it.

He grabs her hand, all of him clamoring for her, seeking her like a beacon in the night and she guides him to sit on the edge of the bed, stepping between his legs.

"I've got you," she whispers, her fingers soft on his shoulder, concern spilling from her eyes and his heart leaps, a fast erratic thing in his chest because yeah, oh yes, she got him.

She's got him.

He draws her to him, leans his forehead to her chest, his face embraced by her breasts, inhaling her scent, the sweetness and the musk of arousal, soaking her in because he'll never, never get enough of her. His fingers grip her waist, holding on tight, so tight, needing her close and her arms tighten around him, her fingers softly caressing his scalp.

He nuzzles his mouth to the enticing plane of her sternum and she shivers, just as affected as he is. And then her fingers skip to the buttons of his shirt, her body in motion as she pops them, one after one, her mouth following the exposed patches of his chest. Her lips so soft, her tongue hot and teasing, a study of contrasts painted to his skin.

His eyes fall closed, limbs weakened as she divests him of his clothing, shirt and pants, boxers and socks until he's naked before her, completely at her mercy, lost to the wicked dance of her lips and tongue and fingertips, the fireworks of sensation sparking through him. His heart hammers, the blood pounding through him but his shaking fingers find the triple hooks of her bra, his hands following the lace as he peels it off, cradling her breasts, his thumbs teasing both nipples and she falters in her pursuit, moaning into his skin.

He tugs her up then, nuzzling around her navel, his lips and teeth following the strip of sensitive skin that travels the length of her abs, the one that makes her shiver, cant her hips, that makes her dig her nails into his shoulders, lost in sensation, lost in him.

Everything about her is amazing, the taste of her skin and the ways she responds to his touch, the shape of her body, slender curves and defined muscle, such strength beneath the lithe frame; her smart, thoughtful, beautiful mind and he never wants to do anything else for the rest of his life but this, with her; he'll never get enough of her, he _knows_, knows this is it. The awareness is there, a low beat at the back of his mind that they're not quite ready, not there yet but there's no doubt within him, no longer any question that this is exactly where she wants to be as well, 'forever' their constant, vital companion, a backdrop to each moment of every day.

He nuzzles lower, breathing onto the lace that seems painted to the vee of her thighs, teasing, translucent, and Kate whimpers, her fingers gripped in his hair. Her scent is enticing, heightening his arousal, his ardent need for her and at last he peels the lace down her endless legs, flicking his tongue out for a first taste. Her flavor dark and delicious, he finds the hidden nerves, feels her ready, throbbing beneath his touch and her head falls back, a loud moan reverberating from her chest. She lifts her leg to the edge of the mattress, offering herself up to him, wide and trusting and so free, more open with him than anybody else ever has been and he treasures each moment, every taste and touch and moan.

Her knees buckle in his grip and then it's she who moves out of his grasp, guides him back onto the bed. He slides on, pulling and adjusting his leg and a sharp stab of pain lances through his knee. He winces, can't hide it. Kate crawls to his side immediately, her palm cradling his cheek, concern limning her features.

"You okay?" She worries but no, he'll have none of that, not now, not in this perfect, aching, eternal moment. His hands at her waist guide her, bring her to straddle his lap. He teases her with his tip until her eyelids flutter and the worry lines ebb from her face. She settles, her features solemn and what he can only interpret as awed, and he directs, watches, _feels_ it with every fiber of his being as she slowly, slowly sinks onto him, takes him deep inside. Her muscles clench around him, sharpening every sensation, pinpoints of pleasure that radiate from his midsection into every part of him, his blood rushing through his veins and there's nothing, nothing more amazing than this, than Kate, Kate.

Kate.

"Never better."

* * *

There's nothing like this, connected and intense and hot, a sizzling fire that spreads, consumes. His arms are wrapped around her back, holding her close, their chests pressed together; skin to skin friction. She seeks his lips; finds him with open-mouthed kisses that are little more than shared breaths, her arms and legs twined around him as she lifts, sinks down; a deliberate, thorough exploration.

His fingers guide, press, tilt her hips to just the perfect angle, knowing her so well, everything about her and it's a rush, a high like nothing else, this closeness and familiarity, how innately he knows her just as she knows him, what brings him joy, excites him, what makes him moan and quake and fall apart. She clenches around him, her body throbbing with need; her head falls back and his mouth travels down her neck, attaches to her collarbone, his breath and teeth and tongue hot on her skin.

He murmurs her name into her skin, in prayer, in supplication, _Kate Kate Kate_, clutching her to him as if he'll never let her go again. And oh god how she wants that too, wants nothing else than to just hold him, feel him, keep him.

She rides on waves of sensation, carried high and higher, thrown before she rises again, her body undulating at its own rhythm, guided by the push and pull that's always been between them, the flood of feelings that burst through her, binding her to him. Forever, always.

_Always._


End file.
